


If You Go Down To The Woods Today

by Britpacker



Series: Three Ways [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Captain Archer's in for a big surprise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I've been meaning to tie up this particular series for a while, but others keep distracting me. Standard disclaimers, unbeta'd etc etc!

It's too hot in here. 

The local dignitaries smell like strawberry crush. I like strawberries, but right now I feel like I've been dropped into a vat of pulped fruit, with the juice seeping into my nostrils and pips clogging my throat. Most of the senior staff have already escaped into the vast tropical forest which surrounds the metallic citadel. 

If they can breathe moist unregulated air for a few minutes, so can I. T'Pol's here. She can Stoic for Enterprise in my place.

Hell, at least she has the protection of a nasal numbing agent!

Even the most sceptical of the senior staff (Malcolm, naturally) can't fault the hospitality we've been offered since we reached Mahandra. The first murmur from me and a pair of pale pink, knock-kneed ushers are guiding me down the spiral stair, one ahead, one behind in case my hand slips on the polished gold rail. They'd accompany me into _the wilderness_ if I'd let them, but I need solitude. Time to think; to grieve.

 _They_ wandered off a while ago, being so careful not to betray themselves they couldn't have been more obvious if they'd bellowed their feelings out as loud as Trip's favourite shirt. As if off ship, even while they're still technically on duty, they're free to share those long, lingering looks and sweet touches Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, my responsible officers, won't exchange. Maybe it's the change into hot-weather uniforms. Or maybe the sickly aroma I can't escape even outdoors has gotten into their brains. 

Dammit, Jonathan, you will not be jealous!

It's hot day and night on Mahandra; the kind of wet heat that gets through to the bones and drenches your body in a weirdly sensual, sweaty haze. Now I'm clear of the natives, I can smell myself, sharp and musky as if I hadn't taken a long, cool shower before we came down. 

Our hot-weather stuff was designed with the arid deserts of Vulcan in mind; out here, amid the kind of jungle foliage I've not seen since coaxing Hoshi out of hiding in the Amazon, it plasters itself to me like a lover's hot flesh, almost melting into my skin. Didn't I come out here to clear my head?

I'm halfway around a leisurely circuit hidden from the fortress walls by gaudy banks of vegetation when it snags in the corner of my eye: a flash of sandy-coloured fabric and golden hair among the verdant greenery. It's like I'm magnetised. The ball of my foot digs into pliant earth as I turn toward it, inching my way into the undergrowth: and if we were aboard I'd swear artificial gravity had just dipped out. What in hell are they _doing_?

Diploma in dumb questions, Jonathan. My Chief Engineer has my Armoury Officer backed up against a broad reddish tree; not that Malcolm's complaining. Long, slim hands are winding through Trip's short hair, keeping him in place as he suckles at pale flesh exposed above the open collar. No wonder Malcolm kept his shirt fastened right up to the neck despite the humidity.

He's got a line of fresh red hickeys running from just where the collar sits, and he'll have another before Trip's done at the base of his throat. My friend had his zipper tugged down far enough to expose a tuft of chest hair earlier: makes me wonder where Malcolm leaves _his_ mark of ownership, and that's a thought no captain should be having about a member of his senior staff.

Like that's the biggest offence I'm committing! I shouldn't be tiptoeing closer, holding my breath for fear they'll hear me coming, but I can't stop myself. His head's fallen back against the tree: his eyes are half-closed, a rosy flush working its way up that elegant neck and over the firm jaw, moving up until it kisses those glorious cheekbones. It's every fantasy I've had in the last few years come true - almost - to see him abandon control this way.

"Triiip, we mustn't." The protest's half-hearted and slurred with the passion that's darkening his incredible eyes. And maybe Trip would take it more seriously if he wasn't having his upper half conscientiously stripped.

"We're alone, darlin'. Ain't nobody gonna come lookin' for us in this damn jungle."

The seductive croon ripples down my spine like melting ice cream. I don't need to imagine its effect on Malcolm, because I see it in the toss of his head, the visible relaxation of every muscle under the cloth still shielding his forearms as he strokes down from the shoulder to cup Trip's clothed ass. "Sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good."

The word ends on a moan as my best friend's hand worms between their groins and suddenly I'm aware my own is smouldering, ready to ignite my pants with the flame that's licking around my balls. You can't do this, Jonathan. 

But I can't not. Like a living slow-mo I lift one foot, place it down; then the other, inching me around for a side-view as their mouths meld in another deep kiss. There's a narrow branch twined with thick foliage right in my eye-line, and I don't stop to think about the noise of it breaking as I push it away. My mouth's dry and my head feels light; as if I've been hitting Trip's stash of Andorian Ale. It's not until my knees buckle under sensation I realise I've started casually fingering the bulge at my groin.

Trip's worked a leg between his lover's now and Malcolm undulates, riding his thigh with head thrown back and lips pulled into a grimace of such pleasure it takes my breath away. Wanton and unrestrained he sobs his boyfriend's name, clawing shoulders dappled where sunlight falls through the forest canopy. Even in my fantasies, he wasn't this beautiful.

"Easy, babe." Trip's accent has never been thicker. "Ah've got a better idea th'n this. C'mon, help me getcha boots off."

"Mmm, please." He can't seem to lift a hand away from Trip's ass to help but that doesn't slow my friend: he drops to his knees, taking Malcolm's pants and boxers with him. There's a nanosecond between his exposure and Trip's ducking head concealing what I've dreamed about for years, but that fleeting glimpse is enough. I'm salivating and, meek as a child, Malcolm lifts one foot then the other, kneading the strong shoulders that hide his perfect package from my sight.

I've shared Decon with him; I knew he was hiding something special in his starched standard issues! He threshes against the tree's support, and I have to find something similar for myself. My legs are weakening under the assault of my touch and his breathy cries. I've got just enough control left to know it's now or never, but not quite enough to turn around and go.

He's tormented me too long to waste this chance. To live, even vicariously, those superheated fantasies of breaking my Armoury Officer's glacial British calm. He's pulling his man upright now, displaying his proudly engorged erection to my ravenous eyes. Mine's its equal and I've got to squeeze myself hard to stall a rush toward completion. He's spectacular.

"Triiip!"

He sounds like a lost little boy, and if I wasn't rooted to this spot, just shielded by the tree line, I'd gladly brush Tucker aside and get down to the job he's ignored myself. The quartermaster may have some repair work to do tonight: Trip's just wrenched his pants off so fast he's split a seam. He glances at the torn material like he's never seen it before, then tosses it away. 

A slow, slack smile crosses Malcolm's face. Gracefully, he sinks onto his bare knees in the dirt. His throat convulses. 

I just hope Trip's groan was loud enough to drown mine.

Something's moving up and down my dick, and the small rational corner of my brain that identifies my own hand's getting swamped by the crazed majority controlled by fantasy. The fluid that's slicking me is from a mouth; from _his_ mouth, and he's so good at this, so concentrated and focussed, and damn, there's blood drenching my bitten tongue...

Whoa, Jon! Trip's moan hits me like a splash of cold water, leaving me blinking, swallowing down the coppery liquid that stings my mouth as my hand stops dead, cupping my cockhead in a gentle palm. The wet _pop_ sound of suction being released rings through the woods as Malcolm frees his treasure to stand swollen, glistening with a sheen of saliva. He reclines against the tree, the corners of his mouth just twitched into an inviting grin. "Enough?"

"More than." With a lunge Trip has him up in his arms, and those muscular thighs are clamped hard around my old buddy's trim waist. "Up a lil' darlin'," Trip grunts as his ass clenches, and damn, it's hard to see while they're squirming and wriggling like that! "I gotcha. Just relax and let it feel good, okay?"

"I - oh!" His forehead tightens for a split second, then the lines smooth out as the burning fades and he's left feeling oh, so good, melting around the hard, thick length stretching him. Oh God I remember that feeling, and there goes the last strength from my knees. The bark of a broad tree trunk bites through thin fabric into my ass and I have to press back against it, feel it sting through the heavy, honeyed flow of rising pleasure. My eyelids are drooping, but I've got to keep them up... want to see him when the climax comes.

I can't do it, but you know what? I don't need my eyes. Undulating into my hand, adding the tingle of small nips to my bottom lip to my sensory overload, I hone in on the husky sounds my dream lover makes as he climbs toward the peak that's rushing in on us both. He can make a report on the build-up of residue inside the phase cannons sound like Shakespeare's finest, but right now...

"Aaaahh... oh yes just there... so good, love, mmmm.... Uuuh.... oh yes, yes! 'm coming, I can't... Aaahh... oh God yes, yes _YES!_ "

My eyes fly open and he fills my sight, that sweet concentrated frown washed away by the flooding bliss of orgasm and I'm right there with him, deep, hot pulses of pleasure surging out until there's nothing but Malcolm and I, straining to the summit together. His eyes are wide, burning with platinum fire; his back arches as he pushes himself closer, deeper, his wild cry softening to a delirious sob that twines around my own. Boneless, spent, I slump against my tree's support and let the universe fade away.

*

Their faint endearments bring me 'round, barely audible over the whisper of leaves in the moist breeze. Trip lies on the mossy ground with Malcolm snuggled in his arms, rumpled dark hair rubbing against his chin while they almost purr with contentment. Lieutenant Spick'n'Span's shirt back is stained a rusty red from tree bark, fragments of which stud the material. His hands flutter, stroking every piece of bare skin they can reach, and Trip's sigh ruffles his hair as he squirms into each new touch. "Love you, darlin',"

"'s mutual." Sleepily satisfied, his voice has the sensual quality of warm molasses cascading down my body. My mouth's so dry my lips are sticking to the teeth and every breath sounds thunderous to my over-sensitised ears. I should leave.

I should have gone before. Moving now, with my legs as limp as the dick flopping in my hand, would most likely be embarrassing for everybody. I can't see straight. I don't want to wobble out of hiding and right into them.

Deep breaths, Jonathan. They're lost in their own world; they won't hear the hiss of your zipper once you've tucked yourself away, any more than they can hear the creak of your breaking heart when they smile at each other that sly, secret way on your bridge. If you're going to escape with a little dignity intact, this is the time to do it.

"We gotta get back."

"I'd sooner stay here." Like a large cat Malcolm uncurls into a languid stretch on his way from horizontal. "But you're right. Wouldn't do for T'Pol to catch us frolicking in the woods. Or the Captain."

The Captain's too busy catching his breath at the sight of a near-naked Armoury Officer hunting through the undergrowth for his regulation blues. Trip snickers.

"Hell, Jon'd jus' tell us t' keep that kinda thing off the bridge," he drawls, pinching his lover's tight backside as he passes. Malcolm laughs as he swats him away. 

I've never seen him like this. Kittenish and relaxed, he's a different being from my sober Chief Tactical Officer. I've got to turn away before I fall in love all over again.

Damn!

A twig cracks beneath my feet and I freeze, waiting for a warning shout. When it doesn't come, I almost melt into the turf like the sticky stain left by my wasted seed. Breaking boughs are common in the jungle. Even Lieutenant Reed at his most paranoid wouldn't react, and right now I figure he's as far off duty as he ever gets.

I must reek of sex and sweat, and I don't need a mirror to know my face is flaming, my hair a mess and my eyes still heavy with the force of recent climax. There's a bathroom off the citadel's main hall. If I'm luckier than I deserve, maybe I can sneak in and clean myself up before anyone notices. 

Jesus Jonathan, what have you _done_? 

I'm petrified again, shrinking back into the thickest clump of vegetation in the forest as they finish dressing and amble by, hand in hand. Not by lust this time. By the shame I should have felt the moment I laid eyes on them.

My best friend. My two senior officers. The man I can't stop myself loving however hard I try. That's who I've betrayed, jacking off in an alien jungle to the sounds of their lovemaking. They trust me - their captain; their friend. And I'm just a damned voyeur getting my kicks in the shadows. 

It's not only the contents of my balls I'm leaving on this fertile planet; the remnants of my breakfast spew over Mahandra's damp earth and I'm shaking, clammy with more than mere sweat. One look at me and everyone's going to know my filthy little secret now.

How can I laugh at Trip's jokes over dinner tonight, _knowing_? How will I meet Malcolm's pale, oh-so-penetrating stare across the situation room in the morning and not die of shame, remembering those eyes burning with ecstasy in an alien forest? 

And how in hell am I going to face myself in the mirror tonight?


End file.
